


Fucking Duende

by seranum



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Humanstuck, oh god the fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 08:05:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/558714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seranum/pseuds/seranum
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Duende /dwen-de/ n.charm, magnetism<br/>The first time you see Feferi Peixes, you barely avoid tripping into a punch bowl at CrockerCon.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fucking Duende

**Author's Note:**

> written over the summer as i despaired over feferi  
> self indulgent, plotless, and oh god jane stop

 

            The first time you see Feferi Peixes, you barely avoid tripping into a punch bowl at CrockerCon.

            You wave away the concerns of your bodyguards and the passerby around you and move to a better position to scope the pretty girl. You decide on a table that is covered in white tablecloth and hopefully inconspicuous enough to hide the fact that you are pretty much stalking her.

            She _is_ pretty; her long brown hair falls in waves down to the back of her knees and you shudder, thinking about how hard shoulder length hair is to manage, much less hair of that length. Not to mention the knots and split ends she must have— but no, her hair seems soft and silky smooth and you feel like petting it. Is that weird?

            The girl has clean, brown skin, which reminds you of gingerbread batter and Christmas Eve, and purple glasses that, you note with a small thrill, are shaped like yours. Her eyes are large and green behind them and you can’t determine the exact shade they are but when she sweeps them towards your direction you blush and look down.

            You watch as she walks over to the same punch bowl you almost crashed into and marvel over how tiny she is. She must be a good five inches shorter than you and you’re only 5’5”, and she is so soft looking; she’s a walking teddy bear, and you kinda want to hug her and talk to her because is it possible for someone to be this cute?

            You fiddle with the fork left behind on the table in front of you, mulling over the pros and cons of you walking over and saying hello. (Pro: she doesn’t seem like she would laugh at the very probable awkwardness you’d display if you did. Con: you’ll trip on the way and actually fall into the punchbowl in a fit of anxiety-induced clumsiness and forever remain a soaked, socially awkward turtle.)

            “Is this seat taken?” You hear a bubbly voice ask and you turn to see The Girl with a plate of food in one hand, the other on the seat next to you.

            “Um, yes! I mean no!” you squeak and try not to flinch. Great going Jane. Way to make a first impression.

            She giggles as she sits and wow, she smells like sea water and cranberries. Is she for real?

            “I’m Feferi Peixes! And you must be Jane Crocker, am I correct?” she asks. You nod. Oh my goodness. Oh my stars and heavens _she knows who you are_ and also _she’s a Peixes oh my lordy._

            The Peixes, you think back, are the small branch of the Crocker family that manages advertisements and publicity. They married in about twenty years ago, Vivienne Peixes eloping with one of your distant uncles on the shore of the island she grew up on. They were together for a year before he passed away. Soon after her husband’s death Vivienne climbed the echeladder of Crocker Corp and now she is the right hand woman to Betty herself. Feferi, now that you recall, is right behind you in line for the Crocker company. She’s two years younger than you, fourteen, and she must already have to beat suitors off with a huge pointy stick, gosh!

            “Um. How are you?” Feferi asks and you snap out of your internal musings. Oh poop. You must’ve been gazing off into space as the silence around the two of you got weirder and weirder, shoot!

            “I’m fine! How do you like the convention so far?” Your voice is a little high pitched and you pray she doesn’t notice.

            “It’s very… nice. Not much excitement going on, however.” You watch her pick apart a croissant with her slender fingers. She has bite marks and her nails are round and pink and oh my god Jane could you get any creepier?

            “You have very pretty hands.” You wish you could suck the words back in your mouth as soon as you say them. Feferi turns her gaze from her mutilated pastry to your face. And blast it all, you start to blush.

            “Thank you!” God bless her, she smiles instead of running away from the freak girl who was ogling her hands. “I like your glasses. I think they’re the same shape as mine!”

            “Y-yeah, they both are oval.” Thank you captain obvious. You would kick yourself but you’re sure somehow you would end up kicking Feferi as well.

            “Can I try them on?” She takes hers off and hands them to you. You stare at the offered glasses. “You can try mine too!”

            You take yours off and spot each and every imperfection on them as you hand them over; the chip on the left arm from getting hit with a basketball, a scratch on the lens from dropping them, the crooked bridge from one of Lil Sebastian’s cleaning sessions— are you seriously feeling self conscious about your eyewear? Jane you need to get a grip.

            “Ooh! Everything is so clear!” Feferi blinks and turns around, your glasses perched on the tip of her button nose like a flag. You stare at hers for a moment before slipping them on.

            Everything is pinched in, as if you’re looking into a fishbowl. Her eyesight is better than yours, and she must be nearsighted because there’s a headache starting to form above your right eyebrow. Her lens are impeccable and you feel guilty for handing her your fingerprint smudged, cloudy glasses. You can see the edge of purple lining the very ends of your point of view and this is what it must feel like to look through the eyes of Feferi Peixes.

            You take them off and hand them back with a nervous smile. “So, uh, what school do you go to?”

            “I go to Derse High, yeah? And you go toProspitAcademy! I’ve seen you around the track meets.” Feferi launches into a tangent about her classes and her friends (you think you heard Calliope’s name in there somewhere?), moving her hands around as she speaks to accentuate her words and you stare transfixed.

            She spins tales out of air, quite like one of your other cousins, using her hands as conductors. They direct the flow of the conversation, from the tone she speaks in to when you can slip in a small anecdote yourself. It’s highly engaging. You think she and Jake would get along well.

            During a small blip of the conversation you clear your throat and say, “You have very good duende.”

            Despite the fact that the word is A) obscure, B) unknown, and C) used by people like Dirk she smiles, a small, shy one not unlike your own.

            Your heart goes _pitter patter_ , like the beat of Thumper’s feet, like the rain falling on a summer’s eve, like the fluttering of one Feferi Peixes’s eyelashes when she tells you about her life inSeychelles.

            The first time you see Feferi Peixes, you think you fall in love.


End file.
